Daughters of Jared, page 9
“When you turn eighteen, you’ll be initiated into the full priesthood,” Nelise whispered to me one morning as we walked through the dim halls to our chamber. Her small hand tugged on my arm, and I slowed my step, allowing the other women to move ahead. Once they were out of sight, Nelise said, “Come, I’ll show you the ritual room.”
My heart pounded as we turned a corner I’d never been around and descended a set of steps leading beneath the temple. “Are you sure I’m allowed to see it?”
She giggled. “No, but we’ll not tell a soul.” We arrived at a low door, barely illuminated by a torch farther down the corridor. Nelise unlatched the door and pushed it inward. The room was almost pitch black. We walked forward, clinging to each other, until our legs hit a table of sorts. I gasped.
“That’s the altar,” Nelise whispered. “Wait here; I’ll bring a torch.”
She scurried away before I had a chance to stop her. So I waited in the cold, dark room, surrounded by unseen nothingness until she returned.
The glow of the torch cast garish shadows, and I was surprised to see that the room was rounded. Along the circular walls were several sconces, waiting for their own torches. I stood by a low altar, longer than any I’d ever seen—the length of a man. I noticed the ropes hanging from the sides, and I wondered what they might be for. Then horror pierced my heart.
I turned to meet Nelise’s ethereal gaze.
She seemed to read my horror-filled expression and quickly explained. “This is where the skin designs are done. Don’t worry, the priestess is given a special tonic to help her sleep during the entire procedure. I didn’t feel anything.” She moved to the end of the altar, holding the torch high. She pointed to a dark metal box. “Open it.”
My stomach twisted in alarm, and I shook my head.
“All right, I will.” Nelise handed me the torch. She lifted the top of the box and pulled out a long, sharp needle.
“That’s what they use?” I choked out.
“It looks worse than it really is.” She lightly traced over a twisting vine on her arm. “It makes us beautiful in the eyes of the sun god. It lets him know we are truly his.”
My throat felt too tight to swallow. I stepped back, putting distance between me and Nelise and the long needle. In the wavering light, she looked mad. Perhaps she was. How could someone enjoy having her skin carved and dyed?
I took another step. Nelise didn’t seem to notice. Not for the first time, I wondered why she’d come to the temple. Was it a betrothal gone wrong? Were her parents unable to care for her? Had she been unfaithful with a married man? All of these were reasons for a young woman to be sent into service at the temple.
“Don’t you want to know what else happens in this room?” Nelise said in a loud whisper. “Don’t you want to know the final ritual?” Her usually warm eyes shone like black daggers, flashing perilously.
“Let’s go,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ll be missed.”
Nelise took a step toward me. “After we are marked, we become true partners of the sun god through the fertility ritual.”
That stopped me, and I hesitated near the door. “Fertility ritual?”
“We give ourselves to the priests in the name of the sun god.” She spread her arms out, the needle still in one hand. “Our virtue becomes the sacrifice upon the altar.”
The words took a moment to sink in. And when they did, the blood drained from my face. The altar blurred before me, and I grew dizzy. I reached for the door to steady myself. “This fertility ritual is the final initiation to be a full priestess?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful to make a true sacrifice for the sun god.”
I inhaled sharply, trying to get more air, but the room was stifling, and the heat of the torch didn’t help. I straightened to my full height, which was not much taller than Nelise. “Put the needle back,” I said in an authoritative voice. “We must return to the other women before we are discovered.” And I must find a way to escape the temple. Where I’ll go, I don’t know, but I’d rather be a beggar than a priestess.
Nelise’s smile faded, and she seemed to comprehend the urgency in my tone. With relief on my part, she replaced the needle and left the room with me, pulling the door shut with a thud. Her eyes still had a faraway look in them, but at least she followed me back up the stairs and into the familiar corridors beyond.
In the privacy of my bed that night, with darkness at last separating me from the other women, I curled into a tight ball, wishing I could disappear. I had no idea the priestesses were expected to perform fertility reenactments with the priests. I’d thought the temple was a sacred and holy place, a place where an unfortunate woman might find refuge and live out her days in noble service. A place a woman could remain virtuous.
I wanted to speak to Lib, ask him my questions. But I knew a twelve-year-old boy had less chance of knowing about fertility rituals than I, a seventeen-year-old woman. Surely I’d be gone before my eighteenth birthday. Surely I’d not be forced to go through the initiation.
When morning dawned, I was a different Naiva. I had grown up. Whatever I’d believed until now had all changed. There had been no word from my family for more than a moon. They had as good as forgotten me. It would be up to me to get out of this place.
I went through the motions of the day, chanting the prayers, weaving shawls for the poor, polishing the floors to a shine, all the while planning my escape. It would have to be at night, when my absence wouldn’t be noticed right away. Surely the head priest would contact my family, and whether or not they sent out a search for me, I wanted to be someplace where I couldn’t be forced to return to any temple.
Weeks passed while I planned my escape, waiting for the right opportunity. Each day was a day closer to leaving.
When a head priest stopped me in the hall one day, I was surprised when he said, “You have a visitor.”
I walked, anticipation pounding in my breast as I followed the priest into the grand hall of the temple. There on a bench sat a veiled woman. She didn’t stand to greet me but simply extended her slim hand.
I knew instantly that it was Ash.
I ran, not caring that my feet slapped unceremoniously against the stone floor, and sank onto the bench next to her. “Ash?” I breathed.
She fell into my arms, her body trembling, and I naturally slipped into my role as comforter once again.
“What’s happened?” I demanded, pulling back.
Her eyes shone wet through the dark veil she wore.
“Father’s dead.” Her hands went to her face and sobs wracked her body.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “How—what?” I gasped.
Her hands gripped my arms, and the sobs halted, her tone turning fierce. “Murdered. By my husband!”
The dread that had started as a seed when I had first seen Ash in the temple sprouted into full horror, spreading like black dye through my limbs until I couldn’t hold myself upright.
I slipped to the floor, clutching at my middle, rocking back and forth, as I tried to purge my sister’s words from my head.
IT WAS RAYNELLE WHO LED two grieving sisters into a small chamber to give us a place to mourn. It was Raynelle who mopped our brows with cool, wet cloths. She prayed over us, she held us, and then she told us to dry our tears.
Raynelle’s sharp, narrow face hovered near my own. She peered into my eyes until I was forced to meet her gaze. “You must be strong for your sister. She needs you now more than ever.”
I struggled to sit up on the bed, where I’d been instructed to lie down. The room probably belonged to one of the priests. It contained a single bed, a stool, and a jug of water. There were no things of comfort, only absolute necessities.
I looked toward Ash, who sat against the wall in the corner of the room, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her veil was off, but her swollen red eyes stared straight ahead, vacant.
Raynelle stepped quietly out of the room. I suspected she hovered outside the door, should one of us call for her.
Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I stood on shaky legs, expecting them to give out at any moment. I crossed to Ash and knelt before her. Taking her hands in mine, I said, “You must tell me what happened. Everything.”
Ash met my gaze, and when she finally spoke, her words chilled me to my very soul.
“You can’t imagine the hell I’ve lived through since Father banished you to the temple.” Her hands tightened against mine until it was painful. “I’ve made the most horrible mistake.”
“What have you done?” I asked, assuming she meant sending me to the temple.
“I married Akish.”
I blew out a breath. I had been there when she’d chosen him, when she planned to seduce him, when she’d married him—all for our father. All for the kingdom that was no longer his.
This must be a mistake, I thought. This can’t be happening. Akish didn’t kill our father. He’s my sister’s husband. A man I might have married if I had been the eldest.
“What did . . . Akish do?” My throat felt dry, the words sour in my mouth.
“He commissioned men to attack Father during one of the audience sessions in the throne room. The guards always search everyone, but somehow, three men slipped through with swords.” Ash’s voice dropped, and her gaze slid from mine. “Akish claims he doesn’t know any of the men. But I know better. Akish swore them to the oath of the ancients.”
Just like you swore Akish in when plotting Grandfather’s death, I thought. But I did not say it. Not now. My mind raced as I imagined my father trying to defend himself against three men. He’d been a proficient soldier many years ago but was in no such shape now.
Although my stomach was tight with horror, I asked, “Did Father fight them off? Did he have a chance at least?”
“No,” Ash whispered. Tears dripped down her cheeks. “The men attacked ferociously. Father’s head was severed before anyone had time to react.”
A violent shudder passed through me, and I doubled over. My father—no matter the disappointments and pain he had brought me—didn’t deserve to die this way. I straightened, anger fueling my strength, and paced the room, walking from one blank wall to the other. “What did Akish say exactly?”
“Does it matter? He’s a master with words.” Ash’s voice sounded bitter. “He came to me soon after and told me Father had been attacked in his own throne room by sympathizers to Omer.” She paused, taking deep breaths. “But I saw the truth in Akish’s eyes. What should have been sorrow for the death of his father-in-law was only triumph.”
My stomach roiled. I had seen that same look in my sister’s eyes many times.
“I couldn’t believe it at first,” she continued. “I ran to Father’s chamber. He was covered with a rug, but I was desperate and pulled it off to see for myself.” Her voice choked, and she brought her trembling hands to her mouth. “They hadn’t even cleaned up the blood yet.”
I hurried over and wrapped her in my arms as she sobbed.
After several moments, she drew in a shaky breath then said, “No one dares question Akish.” She looked at me with wide, sorrow-filled eyes. “It’s been three days, Naiva, since Father was murdered.”
“Three days?” I cried out.
Ash’s face grew even paler. “Akish locked me in our chamber and forced me to keep quiet. The servants who were present were sworn to secrecy. He says it’s to give him more time to find the guilty men. But I think it’s to give the men more time to get away.”
My stomach wrenched, and I turned away and gripped the edge of the bed, fighting to keep my stomach still. The image of my father’s lifeless body decaying in his own chamber was unbearable. No matter how he treated me, how little love existed between us, I knew he deserved a king’s burial. Not to rot away, hidden from his own people.
I lifted my head to study my sister’s swollen face. “Why did Akish let you come now?”
“It was part of our bargain. I lie about the way Father died, and you get to return to the palace.” She gripped her hands together. “And . . . there is a child growing within me. I insisted that only you can care for me in my condition.”
The breath left me. That morning I would have welcomed any excuse to leave the temple and had planned to escape somehow. But not this way. Not home to a man who’d most likely killed my father. If he could kill a king, what else might he do?
Ash reached her arms out to me, and I was in them within seconds. We crouched on the cold floor, holding each other, two sisters united in a terrible cause.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please come home with me. I can’t bear it without you. I’m sorry for letting him send you away. My child will need his aunt to love him.” Her arms tightened as she buried her face in my shoulder. “Look at the mess I’ve made. Can you help me?”
I stroked her hair, my tears blending with hers.
“You are all I have left,” she said. “No one understands me like you. Akish has promised that if you’ll worship as we do, you’ll always be protected in our home.”
I had two choices, three perhaps. I could stay at the temple and never see my brother-in-law or my father’s body again, but then I wouldn’t see my sister or her child. In fewer than six months, I would go through the initiation and become a full priestess and devote myself to the sun god, but I dreaded the fertility ritual more than death itself. Or I could continue to plan my escape, to go somewhere else, another city, another life to learn about the Lord, the God who had warned Omer to flee for his life. Or I could go home with Ash and keep our family together.
Fewer than a dozen heartbeats passed before I said, “I’ll come.”
Entering the palace, I felt as if I’d been gone a year, not a few months. I sensed my father’s absence immediately. Hand in hand, Ash and I went to the throne room, where his body had been laid upon a bier. A shroud covered him completely from head to toe to conceal his severed head. I hesitated, my stomach twisting as I thought about the brutal way he’d died. After a moment, Ash tugged at my hand. We had to pay our respects. It was time.
A few court people filtered in and out of the room, speaking in hushed tones. But they moved to the side as Ash and I walked slowly forward and stood before our father’s shrouded body. His physical body might repose before us, but my father was no longer there. The absence of his soul was plain among the forlorn walls. I avoided looking at where his body met his neck; I didn’t want to dwell on his fatal injuries.
I reached out, toward the outline of his arm and hand. I could see the rings on his fingers pushing against the shroud. My hand hovered above his hand, and then I rested my palm against his fingers. I flinched at the touch—through the shroud I felt the cold, claylike skin. But this was my good-bye, and I rested my hand on his for as long as I could.
I left the room and made my way to my chamber. Everything was as I’d left it. Exhaustion consumed me, and I climbed onto my bed and slept until late afternoon. Waking, I felt hungry, but I also wanted to see for myself if Lib still worked at the palace.
Sara greeted me as I entered the cooking room. “Welcome back, Naiva. We are sorry about the king.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Where is Lib?” The other servants looked up at me, their gazes nervous.
Sara pointed to the herb room, and I followed her direction. Stepping into the cool and fragrant interior, I noticed Lib in the corner, sitting on a stool. He looked up, his hands pausing in their work of crushing something in a bowl.
“You’re still here,” I said.
Lib set down the bowl, his eyes wary. “Are you back for good?”
“Yes.” I looked down at my hands. “I wanted to apologize for getting you in trouble.”
His expression relaxed. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But please accept my apology. I never meant you harm.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry about your father.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead he pursed his lips together and picked up the bowl.
I left the herb room and hurried along the corridor to my chamber. My heart sank when Akish came from the opposite direction. He stopped, and I stopped. I tried not to stare, but I wanted to see if I could detect deceit in his eyes.
“Ash told me you had returned,” he said.
“Yes,” I managed to say. His eyes were darker than I remembered, and as I stared into them, I thought of my father’s still heart, his cold body. A chill spread through me; there was no life in Akish’s gaze—only a deep well of betrayal. I took a shallow breath, dizzy with the desire to get away. I felt nothing but repulsion toward the man who had killed my father. I wanted to escape his gaze, to be in a place where he didn’t share my space.
Thankfully, a servant came down the hallway, interrupting Akish’s stare. I hurried past him without giving him a chance at further conversation.
Tonight my father would be eulogized, and that’s all I wanted to think about.
IT SEEMED THE ENTIRE CITY had come to mourn my father. His body and head were covered in a sheath and set upon a platform in the front courtyard of the palace. Torches burned in abundance, brightening the darkness that had crept in with the night.
The head priest of the Sun Temple chanted, surrounded by the other priests, men I’d come to recognize.
Ash and Akish stood on one side of the bier, my sister looking stoic and forlorn at the same time. And I knew the people would love her more for it. After a week of mourning, she would declare herself the new queen, with Akish as king at her side.
A hand touched the small of my back. I knew who it was before I turned. Levi’s gaze remained focused straight ahead. He didn’t move otherwise, yet his hand remained, offering a measure of comfort, a showing of support, and an acknowledgment of my loss.
I wondered if he knew I’d been in the temple. I wondered if he knew why. If he believed in Omer’s God, he’d surely disapprove of the rituals that went on between priests and priestesses. I wanted to ask him what he thought of it.
